by Agi Dobson

Just moonbeams and shadows
inhabit this place of stones
with subtle movement.
Pale light creeps into cold
crevices, under shelf of rock
searching, searching…

In daytime, bright with sun
lizards sun themselves
on his rocks, birdsong rings
the hill alive

The work of his hands
visible, even now –
stones shifted, earth rammed
timber hewn, his kitchen hearth
with billy, rusted implements

Bright among the weeds, cacti
spears of flowers he’d planted
vivid green of banana leaf
twisted grapevine round a beam
one wizened apple on the gnarled tree

His soul revealed in white
painted symbols of
hearts, initials, cross
fading, fading, fading…

Moonbeams meander, teasing
his ghost, who waits
silent – for a moonless night
deep, in his sombre cave.